The Pack
by Vinnet
Summary: Elena hasn't been back at Stonehaven very long when news arrives that another group calling themselves the Pack is moving in... Crossover with Wen Spencer's Ukiah series.
1. Pack Territory

I'd never heard Bear Valley so quiet on a Saturday afternoon. Our slamming car doors echoed through the street, and my retort to Clay's antics died on my lips as all three people outside stared at us. They quickly looked away again, but only after sneers filled their expressions. One little incident, and Bear Valley would never let me live it down.

"Where is everyone?" Clay wondered.

I glanced at the grocery store, and my stomach protested our delay. But the parking lot was empty; I'd had my pick of parking spaces, when I'd usually be thankful for one at all. We had to find out why. Well, maybe not had to. It wasn't critically important, but we're curious by nature. "They say never to shop on an empty stomach. The Donut Hole?"

He grinned.

* * *

><p>Like the rest of the town, Bear Valley's gossip joint was unnaturally hushed and less well populated than normal. It seemed to be a harbor against whatever had happened, though, as it still had more than ten patrons. Probably the only place in town.<p>

While Clay selected two of the most calorie-rich donuts to hold us over, I sat at a table alone, trying to pick out individual voices in the restaurant's low murmur. It was more difficult than ever before, but my ears were up to the task.

"What are they doing here?" a gruff, female voice asked.

If they were talking about us, I swore—Beneath the table, I forced my fists to unclench. We wouldn't hurt them.

"No one knows, but they came into town for groceries. Then they left. From what I hear, though, they have a tendency to burn down houses for no reason."

That corner of the room fell silent. While I breathed a sigh of relief that they weren't discussing us, Clay set the tasty morsels on the table and sat across from me. His eyes glanced to the silent corner, and I knew he'd picked up on the same conversation.

As I bit into heaven, the conversation picked up again. "Is there any way to make sure they don't target you?" The man asking must have received a nonverbal answer. "And you said they're called the Pack?"

I nearly spit out my donut. They thought they were talking about us!

* * *

><p>I managed to stifle my outburst until we got back outside. "That can't be us! We don't do things like that!" My steel-strong stomach turned at the images the gossipers discussed; supposedly, the Pack habitually burned their enemies alive. We didn't.<p>

"It's not us, but it might be a couple of mutts posing as us."

"Just what we need—more mutts trying to pick up territory."

Clay didn't answer. If that was so, it was because we'd let a mutt have territory. _I_ had talked Jeremy into giving a mutt territory. Now, there was a precedent.

"Do you think it's true that the police won't go near them?"

"That the FBI warned them off?" He shrugged. "It's the only reason I can think of that they wouldn't get involved. Not much keeps our Bear Valley police down."

He said it with a smile, but all I could remember was the Bear Valley police delaying the Pack—my Pack—from rescuing Clay and me from a band of ambitious mutts last spring.

"We have to tell Jeremy."

He nodded. "After groceries. If this escalates, we won't have time for shopping or being hungry."

* * *

><p>AN: Many thanks to Wen Spencer and Kelley Armstrong for their amazing characters and great stories!


	2. Face to Gun

We brought Jeremy up to speed while the three of us unloaded groceries, and he reluctantly agreed to let us check it out. Whether or not the FBI knew where the fake Pack was staying, the residents of Bear Valley knew and helpfully communicated it freely to warn their neighbors away.

It was dark by the time Clay pulled my Camero off the road alongside one of the nearby campgrounds. He'd driven the last mile without headlights and now quieted the engine. With one last glance at each other, we got out, easing our car doors closed.

The first thing I noticed was the smell of cooked meat. Some werewolves, if they always had to cook meat before eating it. I'd never even thought of it, let alone had the patience.

Clay hung back while I ventured into the woods, heading toward the meat. Between the two of us, I was better at dealing with people; Clay was better at brawn.

Only fifteen feet into the woods, the wind shifted, bringing with it the tang of metal and the cloying scent of motor oil. The fake Pack had brought either a load of the least environmentally-friendly cars in the world or an entire parking lot of motorcycles. I stopped and waited for Clay to catch up.

"Gang," he observed. "Wait here. I'll Change."

"Should I Change, too?"

"We'll need to warn them to call themselves something else."

"But not right now." I nodded then wandered a few yards away to start my Change.

Ten minutes later, we rejoined as wolves. Clay took the lead, and I followed a distance off his flank, easily keeping track of his blonde fur in the dark woods. Soon, the encampment appeared as the dim flickers of reflected firelight between trees. The smell of cooked meat—deer—was maddening, even with the motorcycles' scent mixed in. I smelled the air again, savoring it. Something about it started bothering me, and it took a minute to realize why: I couldn't smell werewolf. I smelled human, and I smelled wolf, but the particular scent I identified as the only combination of the two was missing.

I whined softly to catch Clay's attention then made a show of sniffing the air. One ear flicked back; he didn't know what to make of it, either, but he continued padding closer to the gang.

I followed, getting nervous. A gang that travelled by motorcycle couldn't keep wolves as pets. But if they weren't werewolves, the only other option I could conceive was that they decked themselves in wolf furs. That was a less than comforting thought, but the wolf smell was concentrated enough that I guessed they were life. So did they keep a portable kennel?

I saw the man just before he noticed me. Round-faced with long, dark hair, he sat among the underbrush, leaning against a tree. He didn't react as most did: by panicking or, worse, running away. He leveled an old pistol at me but didn't fire.

It was I who froze in fear.

We stared at one another, he impassive, I barely refraining from quaking. The last time I'd been on the business end of a gun, the serial killer on the other end had earnestly tried to kill me. He'd murdered a woman he mistook for me—shot her square in the forehead.

Suddenly, a wolf howl split the night. I flinched but was too afraid to run. It wasn't Clay's voice. It came straight from the knot of human smell. I couldn't keep my ears from flicking uncertainly.

The gunman whispered something, but I was too distracted to listen. Distracted by the steady, hollow end of the pistol.

More wolf voices joined the first. Wolves work to make their voices discordant, in order to exaggerate the perceived size of the pack. Even so, I could tell there were more of them than there were of us. Another voice joined and was lost in the others' ululations.

My eyes snapped back to the gunman.

"Go home!" he commanded, loud enough to be understood over the howling.

I took a step back, worried he might shoot me if I ran.

The gun lowered a few degrees.

With no other incentives, I ran straight away from the gunman, nudged Clay to follow me, and raced back to our clothes.

We Changed back and met up where we'd parted, still listening to the last vestiges of the fake Pack's genuine wolf howl.

"Why'd you pull us back?"

"Didn't you hear them? We were outnumbered."

Clay brushed my nose with a finger. "Didn't you smell them?"

"They weren't werewolves."

"They weren't a full pack of wolves, either. I heard nothing Peter couldn't have pulled off with the right equipment." He took another look at my expression. "Normally, you'd be dragging me back there. Why did you really bring us back?"

"They had a guard. He pulled a gun on me."

He frowned. "Did you bite him?"

"No, I didn't bite him! I froze!"

"Elena, he could have shot you even more easily!"

Of course. Why hadn't I thought of that? But the man hadn't. He'd kept an eye on me to make sure I wouldn't hurt him then shooed me away as soon as my instincts agreed. "He didn't. And if he's any indication as to how the rest of his gang treats outsiders, then we stand a good chance to go in as humans and talk to them."

"What about the whole burning people alive thing?"

"Maybe it's a different Pack."

He fitted me with a stare that made me feel idiotic.

"Maybe we should go back again and find out how they did the howling. That didn't sound like speakers to me."

"Fine, but I'm going to Change back and follow you. Just lead us around the guard."

"I've got a better idea."

* * *

><p>AN: No reviews yet. I'll post what I have. I have an end in mind but plenty of work to keep me occupied with other things. If anyone's interested, I'll continue.


	3. Face to Face

"I'm a werewolf, not a Chihuahua."

Clay had protested against my plan, but as usual, it hadn't dissuaded me. We now crept through the woods a second time, fifty yards west of our original path, and I glanced down, trying to stifle my snicker. Clay had only agreed to the friendly, decorative bandana around his neck for the same reason I'd suggested it: if he looked like my pet, I'd have an excuse for walking in the woods, and he would be right beside me for protection. But if I rubbed it in too much, he'd ditch it and go back to looking like the guard he was.

We skirted the sentry's position in near silence, thanks to a recent rain, and when the gang became visible between the trees, we crouched behind a fallen log.

As far as I could see and smell, all were human, except for the deer they'd hung between two trees and were steadily picking away at. They laughed and seemed to egg each other on like family. While many bore some resemblance to each other, the group still had a wide sample of various ethnicities.

Suddenly, a leather-clad man stood still and smelled the air. Then he turned and looked the direction we had come before. His gaze began sweeping the woods, and I ducked down to watch him through the weeds under the log. He missed us. He hardly glanced upwind, as if he knew he'd smell more if we were there. He started saying something to the others, and the camp fell silent. Then he cut himself off, and the entire camp faced the campground center. Suddenly, without a word, half of them tore into the woods away from us, disappearing with almost as much sound as Clay and I would make.

The leader smelled the air again, once again scanning the woods and missing us.

Beside me, Clay glanced up at my face. I wrapped my cool fingers into his thick, warm fur.

Three minutes later, most of the group returned, along with two more men, neither of which fit the biker motif; both wore khakis and polos and carried a professional air I was sorely tempted to trust. I knew better; mode of dress is rarely a good indication of trustworthiness. Just look at politicians.

Without preamble, one of the newcomers turned to the leader and raised his voice. "Rennie, you've got to stop this. The FBI have been on your heels for over a week. They're going to close in within a couple days."

The leader shrugged and said something soft enough I couldn't hear.

I pointed to another fallen log closer to the camp and a little left of our position. Clay reluctantly agreed to move.

As we crept closer, I heard the newcomer's angry response. "You can't just convert every federal agent who comes after you!"

Settled behind the closer log, I finally heard the leader's rough voice. "Why not?"

"Besides that it's wrong? You've got a wealth of resources tracking your every move, when you could have them tracking Ontongard."

"And what good are humans going to do against Ontongard?" He sounded bored, as if reciting an old script.

"The cult did well enough. They taught us things you never knew."

"Yes, humans tracked and killed Ontongard." He stared at the newcomer, who wilted slightly in spite of his confident exterior. Rennie was definitely the Alpha. "In your fantasy, what happens to Ru? Or to Indigo or Ukiah?" When he paused, I knew the names were dear to them both. "Or to Kittanning?"

The second newcomer stepped forward. "Indigo and I have discussed this. We can handle the backlash. And we can certainly hide Kittanning. It'd be worth it—"

Beside me, I felt Clay stiffen. His low growl rumbled against my fingertips. I spun around.

There, as still and silent as any of the surrounding trees, was the gunman, his pistol once again leveled in my direction. Clay's growl turned more vicious.

Without a word, the man lowered his gun and hauled me off the ground by my arm.

Clay went wild. He snapped at the man's arm and legs, but with the same calm, the man swung his free arm once and sent my 180-pound wolf companion careening into the forest floor several feet away. I leapt to check him, but the gunman held me tight and half-carried me into the clearing with the firelight.

The three men had stopped talking, in favor of watching the gunman and me. I tensed. These people didn't smell like werewolves, and they didn't act like my Pack did. But their conversation would make sense if they were; the FBI would be after us if they knew how many we'd killed. Converting them into more werewolves would be an interesting way to confront them, immoral but probably effective. And I knew no other groups who distinguished themselves from humans. But without the scent?

Rennie stepped toward me first, and the gunman let go. "Don't run, or we'll have to chase you."

I knew that feeling. Prey instinct was almost impossible to fight. They were werewolves.

"Don't hurt her," the first newcomer demanded.

Rennie ignored him, brushing a finger across my cheek. I felt my face crinkle in distaste. Then I realized he had had about as much emotion doing it as I did thumbing through a phone book. At first. When he finished, he rubbed his fingers together as if oily, studying some nonexistent substance from my skin. "Interesting." He turned to the newcomers but said nothing.

"I'm not touching her." The newcomer's tone implied he had more decency than that.

They stared at each other for a minute, and he finally gave in to his Alpha. Instead of brushing my cheek, though, he offered a handshake. Not seeing that I had a choice, I took it.

"I'm Agent Atticus Steele. My partner and I are going to make sure you get home safely."

His partner and he. Not we. He thought the rest of his Pack might hurt me.

Agent Steele continued, "What were you doing out here this late, anyway?"

"Walking my…" I glanced back and saw that Clay had gone. I'd been pretty sure he was going to be all right. But he wasn't the only one I was worried about. "Your man, he bit him." I looked around my other shoulder, expecting to see the man passed out. He wasn't. How long had it been before I had when Clay bit me? Several minutes.

"Something wrong?" Agent Steele wondered.

"My dog bit your man. He's going to be sick."

"I'm sure he'll be fine," Steele cooed.

"No—" I cut myself off. It wasn't as though these men could do anything. A hospital wouldn't change whether he died in sickness or lived to become a werewolf. Unless he already was. But no one here smelled like it. They smelled of human and wolf and something else but not werewolf. I swallowed my fear. "You're right."

Steele turned back. "Can we round up her dog?"

"He knows how to get home." After all, when he got back to his clothes, he'd have the car keys.

Steele shook his head. "There are wolves out there. Your dog won't stand a chance."

"He's probably already started back."

"We'll find him," a gruff voice behind me said. I glanced back and saw the gunman disappear into the trees. Damn. Well, either they would or they wouldn't. At least the guy after Clay could pass out before he found him.

"Thanks." I couldn't keep the sarcasm from my voice.

"Well, what do you think?" Rennie asked.

"I'm not going to talk about her like she's not here," Steele retorted.

"Fine." The Alpha turned his gaze to me. "This is the second time we smelled you around here. What were you looking for?"

"I was just curious."

He cocked his head in disbelief. "You were the one Bear had us scare off, weren't you?"

"What?"

"The almost white wolf. That was you."

I was certain my expression gave me away. Nobody _guesses_ werewolves exist. Even if someone sees us Change, they always attribute it to a hallucination. No one just guesses it with only the disconnected incidents he'd seen.

I found my tongue still attached to my mouth. "What're you talking about?"

I glanced to the FBI agent behind him, hoping to see shock or disbelief. Steele looked only mildly confused, but the Asian man he came with, his partner, looked befuddled. But not enough to dare to say more with the Alpha around.

Rennie smiled. "We'll keep your secret, Miss. Don't worry. As soon as your 'dog' comes back, we'll take you home. You up for that, Boy?"

Agent Steele frowned before he answered. "I said we would."

"Good." Rennie backed off, turning to the deer and busying himself preparing a chunk. My stomach growled.

Steele turned back to his Alpha. "We're not done, Rennie."

"We are in front of her unless you're willing to leave Ru out, too."

"I'm not playing mind games."

Although the two fell silent, the body language carried on with an unspoken escalation.

Steele's voice broke out loud again, "We're in the middle of the woods with one, maybe two, confused civilians, miles away from anyone else, with the FBI hours from finding your location. You don't need tactical advantages to your communication—you need a plan of action, one that gets you allies instead of three Bureaus of enemies!"

Rennie glanced to me, but for once, this was a fight I wanted no part of.

"That's bullshit!" Steele accused out of the blue. "Indigo, Ru, and Kyle all support you. The Temple of New Reason would have if you'd told them you were angels." He shrugged. "As much as I hate you, _I'm_ still here."

"Don't forget, Boy: you can feel them. Would you have believed us if you didn't?"

"They did."

What, like they had some secret harder to believe than werewolves?

Rennie's glare turned to me. Maybe my soft snort was louder than I thought. "Something to share?"

"You think_ I'm_ a wolf, and you think _you_ have something harder to believe?"

The silent partner smiled. "Yes, we do."

That shut me up quick.

Rennie stalked up behind me. "Why did you come looking for us?"

"I didn't. I was walking—"

"Hellena is tracking your trail. She's about a half mile out but says it's taking her toward the road, not the nearby cottages."

I'd been watching him since they noticed me, and no one had told him any such thing! "You're making that up!"

"He's not." Agent Steele's eyes looked almost sorrowful.

Damn. I'd seen a lot of weird things in my life; I might as well take this on faith. If my Pack had a low-level telepathic field, maybe this Pack had a full-fledged one. Somehow. "Fine. We were driving down the road. I smelled deer cooking—no one roasts deer like that in this area. I stopped to look."

"At which point, you came from downwind. When you encountered Bear, you doubled back and came at us crosswind. Most barbeque guests actually ask for food." He stepped back, cut a piece of roasted meat from the deer, and held it just out my reach. "One venison steak for one answer."

My stomach thought it a good deal. If the guy already guessed what I was, I could answer him now and later claim to be playing into his delusions. It's not like the information could hurt us. "Bear Valley was buzzing about the Pack being nearby."

Agent Steele shot Rennie an I-told-you-so glare.

"So what?" the Alpha asked.

"Their descriptions didn't match my Pack. You're in our territory."

He grinned. "What are you going to do about it?"

I held my hand out for the steak, but he shook his head. My stomach protested. "Nothing. You're not like us, so it's none of our business. You're not subject to our ethics. I just wish you wouldn't give us a bad name."

"We had it first."

"Want to bet?"

"1863."

"20 BC." I held out my hand again, as if I should be rewarded for belonging to the older organization. He dropped the steak into it, and I chowed down.

The woods rustled, and we all spun to face it. The gunman lumbered back out, holding Clay by the scruff of his neck and by his butt, claws pointed out and back against his chest. The man made lifting a 180-pound wolf look easy, despite the lacerations on his arms and face. Neither one looked happy. "I tried not to hurt him," he told me, and his eyes continued to communicate to his Alpha.

"No, listen," Steele demanded, obviously responding to something I missed. He looked me in the eye. "Who is that wolf to you?"

"I told you: my dog."

Rennie broke in. "Hellena found a man's clothes, ID says Clayton Danvers." He recited our address, as if from memory. "We're not picking up a fifth scent. There's a wedding ring, too. He your husband or lover?"

I hesitated; they weren't buying my story. That wasn't exactly new, but I'd never met anyone so insistent on believing the truth. "Lover."

"And what does Mrs. Danvers think?"

"_Mrs._ Danvers rescinded her yes when Mr. Danvers bit her."

Rennie chuckled. Somehow, he found this all amusing.

Steele broke in again. "And if he's a Get?"

"The Ontongard won't see this coming. Maybe we should Get them both."

That didn't make any sense to me, but I still didn't like the sound of it.

"Here's an idea," the silent partner added. "What if we take them both back to the hotel, treat them to dinner for all the trouble you've caused them, and if they're fine in the morning, we'll take off?"

I frowned. I'd been worried about Clay turning their gunman into a werewolf. Were they worried that their gunman had turned Clay into something else? Was that even possible?

"There might be something better. Werewolves don't go unnoticed by roaming National Parks. I bet you live on a large, private chunk of land authorities can't enter without probable cause."

My appetite disappeared suddenly. "I'm staying in a hotel. When I'm not visiting Bear Valley, I rent an apartment in Toronto." Six months ago, that was true. Except for the hotel.

Rennie wasn't buying it. "That address—everyone remember where it is? Let's pack up." He turned back to me. "Hellena's bringing your car around."

The gang disappeared, tearing down camp as quickly and effectively as if it had never been there. The gunman set Clay down beside me, and I glanced at his arms. Light swaths traced where blood had flowed, but it had stopped and dried, and I wondered if Clay had only managed to graze him. Clay, on the other hand, casually favored one of his back legs, keeping it lifted barely off the ground. His fur was matted with blood and crawled with bugs and sticks, but he seemed to only be bruised. I bent down to check him, anyway.

Agent Steel stood nearby, watching the bustle of activity. The mostly silent partner squatted on Clay's other side, eliciting a very threatening growl.

I curled my fingers into the ruff at Clay's neck. "These two aren't going to hurt us."

Clay's growl softened a little, but he kept his rump against my thigh; me holding his neck wasn't enough.

The partner smiled. "Hi, I'm Ru."

"Not Agent someone?"

He shrugged. "I save my title for official business. The DEA has no beef with the Pack—this Pack. Well, the Dog Warriors."

I frowned. "Then where do the FBI come in?"

"With the kidnappings, mostly. Some with the arson, assault, buglary, auto theft, yadda, yadda, yadda."

My eyes widened until I realized that we'd done most of those, too. Maybe not arson. Still, it was not a good feeling being on the other end of the control situation.

"How much land do you really have?"

I almost answered when the real problem hit me. "Shit! Jeremy!" Oh, this was not going to go over well!

"What's wrong?"

"It's not my house. It's our Alpha's house. I saw your guy bring Clay back like a puppy, but that's not going to stop Clay or Jeremy from fighting until you're off the property."

Agent Steele turned back to us. "Rennie's planning to address it." He knelt down, too. "Look, you need to understand there's nothing you can do to hurt us." Suddenly, he picked something out of Clay's fur, snapping his hand back to avoid being bitten. At first, I thought he'd recovered a tick; we found them sometimes and dealt with them after the Change. Instead, it was a ladybug that flew from his hand toward the bustling Pack. "We're not what you think we are."

"Then what are you?"

"Rennie's right. You wouldn't believe me if I told you. "

* * *

><p><em>AN A little extra dialogue we couldn't hear from Elena's perspective._

"I'm not playing mind games," Atticus insisted. Not that it ever made a difference.

_These aren't games._

_Stay out of my head!_

Rennie shook his head, as if Atticus were a lost cause, as always. _Give up your idea of sanctity of thought and realize the tactical advantage of—_

"We're in the middle of the woods with one, maybe two, confused civilians, miles away from anyone else, with the FBI hours from finding your location. You don't need tactical advantage to your communication—you need a plan of action, one that gets you allies instead of three Bureaus of enemies!"

_No human would offer us help. _

"That's bullshit!"

* * *

><p>Bear stepped out of the woods, holding the blonde wolf like a bad dog. Blood seeped from the fresh wounds on his arms and face, but it would stop soon. <em>I don't know how much of my blood he got.<em>

Rennie frowned. The evening couldn't get that much worse. _We may have to put him down. _ It was far from ideal, but they didn't need another Get, especially one that could be as much of a wildcard as a werewolf. Then again, he couldn't be any worse than Coyote, the full wolf from whom the Pack was descended.

_You could at least give him a chance to survive,_ Hellena put in, his voice of compassion, as always.

"No, listen," Atticus demanded, not even listening to Hellena. He turned to the werewolf in human form. "Who's that wolf to you?"


	4. Home Invasion

Clay rode in the back seat of my Camero, still pretending to be my dog. Agent Steele took the passenger's seat. The other Pack, the Dog Warriors, had sent us and the DEA agents ahead to smooth their way onto a private campground. The closer we got to Stonehaven, the tighter my hands clasped the wheel and the whiter my knuckles turned in the already pale moonlight streaming through the windshield. Jeremy and Clay weren't going to stand for this. But I could think of nothing to do to stop it.

Mutts—non-Pack werewolves—feared Clay. He had a way of simply not caring about others and could detach himself and inflict gruesome torture. He was strong, fast, smart, and had never met a human or werewolf he couldn't handle. Yet the Dog Warrior had brought him back to me like a puppy, apologizing to his Alpha for _letting _himself get bitten. And not because he feared turning werewolf himself.

I couldn't handle one if he were alone.

And there were twenty.

Twenty of them, three of us—five if we got the whole Pack together.

I pulled into the driveway and raced into the house, Clay at my heels on the way to his bedroom to Change. I checked the study and cursed. Jeremy must already have gone to bed. I raced up the stairs and found him poking his head out his bedroom door. "Everything go all right?"

He usually waited for a yes and went back to sleep. "We've got problems."

His door opened wider, revealing his pajama pants and bare chest. "What's wrong?"

Before I could get words to form, the doorbell rang.

"Them?" he asked.

I nodded.

"If they're courteous enough to ring the doorbell, take them into the study. I'll be down in a minute. Take Clay with you."

"He's Changing."

"Why?"

"Because he can't hurt them."

Looking suitably alarmed, he backed into his room to dress.

I went back downstairs and showed the DEA agents into the study. My stomach felt as though it were twisting in knots; I hated to think how I'd have felt if the federal agents hadn't come first—if they were even on our side.

Ru studied everything he saw and sat on the couch when I invited him. "This is a nice place." He turned to his partner. "Kind of reminds me of Ukiah's office, you know?"

Agent Steele didn't answer.

Nor did I. I sat by the fireplace and rebuilt the fire. At least there was that much to do while I awaited Armageddon.

Jeremy and Clay came down together, two legs apiece. Clay limped a little and, leaning against the doorjamb, squinted at us through a swelling eye. Jeremy crossed the room to the agents. "Sorry I took so long; I wasn't expecting visitors so late."

"That's understandable," Ru answered as he and Steele rose to shake Jeremy's hand. "I'm Agent Hikaru Takahashi. This is my partner, Agent Atticus Steele. We're with the DEA."

Jeremy frowned. "I'm Jeremy Danvers. This is Clayton Danvers. I believe you've already met Elena Michaels." He took a seat in his recliner, and the others sat as well. "What brings the DEA to my house on a Saturday night?"

"A personal concern." Away from the Dog Warriors, Ru seemed to speak for the partners. That surprised me; I would have thought anyone who would stand up to his Alpha could speak just as well in front of others. "A gang called the Dog Warriors caught these two watching them in the woods."

"Are you sure? I sent Elena out to take the dog for a run. Clayton was here the entire time."

Agent Steele spoke up. "They found his ID. The scent was the same."

"How is that possible?"

The two exchanged a glare. Then Agent Steele continued, "We checked her DNA and found both wolf and human. They would have found the same on his wallet and clothes."

"DNA analysis takes hours, at the very least."

"Not necessarily." He rubbed his fingers together, as he had after shaking my hand, as Rennie had after touching my face. They'd been trying to figure out why I smelled like wolf by… reading my DNA? "We have a new instant analysis kit we use in field work."

"And you believe a result like that? Instant analysis must mean decreased accuracy."

"The results matched. It was his ID." He nodded toward Clay.

Ru jumped in again. "Regardless of whether it was a dog or Mr. Danvers, the Dog Warriors decided to move onto private property to avoid discovery by the FBI. We're still trying to convince them to cooperate with more authorities, but it's been a long discussion, and it's not ending soon."

"No."

"What?"

"The Dog Warriors are not staying here."

"Mr. Danvers, we're not asking you. We're warning you. The Dog Warriors are on their way, and it's in your best interest to cooperate."

Without turning his head, Jeremy raised his voice. "Clayton, get the phone number for the closest FBI office."

"No, wait!" one of the agents sputtered, but Clay was already running off to find it. Or limping swiftly, anyway.

Run turned back to Jeremy. "Mr. Danvers, they kill any federal agent who comes after them. If you impede them, they'll kill you, too."

"And as a federal agent, you're okay with that?"

"As a federal agent, there's not much I can do. We can't stop them from hurting you without interrupting the work they're doing. As a human being, I can ask you to capitulate to them and not give them a reason to harm you."

I could see signs of Jeremy's agitation but only because I knew him well. "This property is a haven to a number of people. Outsiders are not welcome and have violated this only twice." He paused while his statement sank in. "I would prefer to limit those violations to intruders working _with_ the law."

Ru nodded. "We share that preference. Unfortunately, we're in a similar position. I'm sure if I did the wrong thing, the Pack would kill me, maybe Atticus, too."

"You're okay with that?"

"Of course not, but it's what I have to work with." Ru sighed. "If it's a matter of having something back there you don't want people to see—"

"It's not."

"Then is it a matter of cleanliness? I've seen the way they leave their campsites: spotless. No trash, not one beer can or wrapper."

"While that's reassuring, it's not the same. As I said, this is a haven to my people—"

"To werewolves?" Agent Steele filled in.

Jeremy's eyebrow raised; I knew he'd be irate that I'd told them, but I hadn't. Somehow, they'd guessed. "To what?" he asked politely.

"As I said, we looked at the DNA—"

"You had no right to collect that."

"You're right. It's not admissible in court, but we don't plan to use it for legal action. I'm just saying that Ms. Michaels's very clearly contained both wolf and human in a peculiar arrangement, such that both are accessible." He sighed then added, "As does yours."

"What are you talking about?"

Agent Steele ignored the question. "We're all curious about you, of course, but we're not going to tell anyone else. If you keep your haven, so you don't hurt anyone, that's great. You're not going to hurt the Dog Warriors, either. Just let them camp for a week, tops, and then they'll leave."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

"No more wild werewolf accusations?"

"They're not—"

Ru put a hand on his partner's knee to interrupt him. "We'll try to keep the wild accusations to a minimum."

The room fell silent, and we could hear the deep rumble of motorcycles in the distance, approaching like the horses of the apocalypse.

"Shit." Steele glared at the floor while he murmured to his partner. It was a quiet room; he had to have known we could hear. "Rennie wants to come in and pick up the werewolf thing."

"Tell him," Ru started then cut himself off. He turned back to Jeremy. "Mr. Danvers, the head of the Dog Warriors is named Rennie Shaw. He's every bit the kind of man you'd expect to lead the nation's most violent biker gang. We can't stop him from coming in here, but we can try to persuade him to remain nonviolent."

"Understood." Had Jeremy just spoken through clenched teeth? Maybe I had something stuck in my ear from the run.

Steele shifted forward nervously on the couch. "Look, Mr. Danvers, I need you to trust me on some things, so I'm going to trust you first, okay?"

Jeremy nodded.

Steele turned to me. "This information can't leave this house."

I nodded, too.

"The Dog Warriors and I have abilities we can't explain under an easy category like 'werewolf.' We're not…"

Ru picked up for him. "They're not your standard, everyday human, either. What you need to know is that they're telepathic with each other." He looked at me. "I'm sure you noticed."

I froze. When Rennie recited Clay's driver's license, I'd managed to convince myself it was a trick. If Ru was right, he'd actually been repeating what someone else half a mile away was reading.

Steele picked up again. "We also read DNA by touching it. When I shook your hands, I knew." He held his hands up. "I promise you anything I know about your DNA is completely inadmissible in court."

Jeremy sat in silence, inasmuch as the motorcycle engines allowed. Then, elbows propped on his armrest, he folded his hands in front of his face. "This is a new situation for us."

Clay padded back up to the door jamb, a slip of paper in hand that supposedly had the phone number for the FBI. Jeremy shook his head, effectively putting Clay on standby.

"I appreciate your honesty, if what you say is true."

His eyes fell on me, and I nodded. That made a lot more sense of the evening's events, even if all they'd done was sat it aloud.

"Then I'll reciprocate." Jeremy leaned forward in his seat, looking at ease but still in command. "We keep this property as a hunter-free zone and as a safe place to run. By keeping humans off the property, we ensure that they won't see us, run away, and be killed because we acted on instinct."

"That's very responsible of you," Ru acknowledged. "But you're not going to have to worry about the Dog Warriors at all. They won't run."

Suddenly, I heard the front door open and the sound of hard-sole boots on the foyer floor. Clay tensed, and I was sure he'd attack at any second, but he checked himself, settling into glaring at the intruder.

Rennie came into view, leather jacket hanging open over well-worn denim and creased boots, every bit the spry gang leader. Somehow, seeing him here, contrasted with the polished cherry furniture and clean walls, he looked more menacing than he did in the woods, surrounded by his own kind.

My stomach tightened its knot.

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><p><em>AN. I've never been above bartering for reviews. You've now read more of this than I have in my notebook. I've got an end in mind but not quite the motivation to write it. You're welcome to encourage me!_


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